


Transition plans

by Upstarsfromreality



Series: Bringing it all back home [2]
Category: Elementary (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-08-11 02:39:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upstarsfromreality/pseuds/Upstarsfromreality
Summary: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but now it isn't.





	1. Chapter 1

Marcus Bell sweated under the polyester on wool combination of a full dress uniform and a master's gown. His last class completed, his thesis written and presented, he was ready to move on. Night school had only been a step in advancement anyway. He heard his name called, walked across the stage, looked down at the crowd and smiled at his mom, Andre, and Chantal. The captain was not there. Six months ago Marcus would have sworn he'd make it, but Gregson had been more and more withdrawn ever since Sherlock and then Joan had left. Nowadays, the captain did his work thoroughly and completely, but didn't engage with everyone at the precinct the way he used to.

Sitting back down, Marcus allowed his thoughts to drift to his plans for the next month. He had cashed out all the vacation he never took at the NYPD and resigned a month before his training for the Marshals was due to start to allow some time to travel with Chantal, but found out at the last minute that she could only get the last week off. That left Marcus with three weeks at a loose end.

Marcus knew what he wanted to do with the time: relax a little, spend some time with his mom and Andre. He even knew that's what he should do before a career change took him out of the city for at least six months and probably for quite a bit longer. He was fairly certain that wasn't what he would end up doing. He thought it much more likely he wouldn't be able to talk himself out of looking into Joan and Sherlock's case.


	2. Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot, but now it isn't.

Monday morning, after graduation, associated partying, and a restful Sunday, Marcus woke up and considered how to address Sherlock and Joan's case without a badge at the moment. He chose to act exactly like he did have one until it became a problem. His typical first step would be to either confirm or eliminate the obvious suspects: Sherlock and Joan. Sherlock had confessed, of course, but the FBI assumed he was covering for Joan, so he'd have to focus on her too.

Unfortunately, Joan had been a good suspect. The weapon was one she was favored. The deceased (Marcus refused to call Michael a victim) had identified her. Thanks to her mother's Alzheimer's disease, Agent Mallick found her alibi shaky.  Maybe the Alzheimer's could make her alibi firmer than a typical parent's word. Marcus couldn't ignore this possibilty, even if it meant talking to that louse Henry Watson.

Marcus took out his phone and dialled a contact he had hoped never to use again. "Good morning Mr. Watson, this is Marcus Bell. Somethings have come up in the Michael Rowan investigation and I'd like to ask a few questions about the time your stepdaughter was staying at your place a few months ago." There was no need for Mr. Watson to know he wasn't a cop at the moment, or that the only place anything had come up in the investigation was his own mind.

"Of course I'd be happy to help, Marcus," replied Henry, "but I was out of town the weekend she was here."

"You may be able to help anyway," insisted Marcus. "Given your wife's condition, do you have any security cameras or nanny cameras on the property?"

"We do. The FBI checked them, of course, but the one on the back door wasn't working, so they didn't confirm Joanie's alibi." 

"They may be able to confirm it anyway. Could you please send me any footage from that weekend that you have, including any from inside the house." 

"But the only one inside the house is in the kitchen, so I can check periodically to make sure Mary is still consistently safe there. I've always done most of the cooking when I'm home, but if she starts to forget to turn the stove off when I'm gone I would need to know. I don't see how that could help you. Mary told me Joanie mostly stayed in her bedroom, and there aren't any cameras there."

Marcus thought it was a damn good thing there weren't any cameras in Joan's bedroom, or someone would be investigating the beating of Henry Watson. "The one in the kitchen would help a lot. Please send whatever you have. Do you still have my email?" 

"I do, and I'm happy to send whatever you want, but how wulould the kitchen help?" 

"It's just a hunch. I really appreciate it."  Marcus was happy to get out of that one without revealing any cop tricks to the louse. He opened up the video Henry had sent,  fast forwarded to the evening before Rowan was killed, and slowed it down enough to see what he was looking for: Joan in the kitchen, making tea for herself and her mother. He watches her wince when she lifts the kettle, placing her hand on her injured side. He watches her take the teacups off the tray and carry them into the living room. She comes back into the kitchen and gets the teapot separately, holding her side again. She hadn't placed it on the tray because I she didn't want to carry without a free hand. He doesn't want to see his friend in pain, of course, but the detective in him is glad to see it all the same. He notes down the time: eight o'clock, the evening of the muder.

Scrolling forward to eight the next morning, he is even more pleased to see the exact same degree of discomfort as Joan makes tea again: a wince with the weight of the kettle, and a reluctance to carry a loaded tray. He now has all the proof he will need to verify what he already knew: Joan didn't kill Michael. Before the murder, Joan was too badly injured to beat Michael to death without severe pain. Even if an adrenaline rush pushed her through it, she would have aggravated her injuries, looking worse the next morning. One suspect eliminated, one more to go, and then a real killer to find.


	3. Chapter 3

Tuesday morning, with Joan in the clear, Marcus turned to destroying Sherlock's confession. Unfortunately, Sherlock had intentionally given him very little to work with in terms of means, opportunity and motive.

Means was the strongest factor against Sherlock. Sherlock was a fit guy. The closest he had ever come to killing someone in the past had been a beating. True, that beating had been barehanded, but it had been impulsive, with few weapons around. Rowan's murder may well have been premeditated, and Sherlock liked batons. He was an expert at something called singlestick, which Sherlock considered a sport and Marcus did not. The autopsy had even revealed a blow where the forehead met the crown of the head, the target Sherlock called the pate. Marcus had to admit that if not for the fact that Sherlock hadn't done it, he would have liked him as a suspect.

Opportunity was not so blatantly against Sherlock, but it certainly wasn't for him either. Sherlock was self-employed, with no set working hours. All-nighters and sleep binges were both common for him. Given that Sherlock had insisted he was at Denny Mulgrew's house murdering Rowan, there was nothing to indicate he was somewhere else doing something else.

Sherlock had two motives for Marcus to destroy: the “service of the Queen” from his confession and getting Michael off the streets without a warrant, which would have been his motive had he done it.

Marcus knows Sherlock well enough to know he absolutely would have killed Michael if necessary, but he thinks he could make a good case for it not having been necessary. Joan was right when she said that her beating meant they could get all the warrants they wanted. As soon as Michael lost control like that, he essentially guaranteed his own arrest. Also, if Sherlock had beaten Michael to avenge the attack on Joan, he would have said so. Sherlock was both too self-righteous and too protective of Joan to let her take the blame for that.

The service of the Queen was less ridiculous it seemed at first glance. Sherlock actually was a spy, having spent the better part of year working for MI6. Marcus couldn't see any reason for the British state to want an American serial killer, killing Americans on American soil, dead; but Michael was also an architect. Architects got into lots of buildings. It was just barely possible that Michael's day job had gotten him killed, so Marcus decided to cash in some favors with the one guy who he thought would know. The fact that the favors in question were owed to Sherlock made it even better. He called Agent McNally and made an appointment for the next day.


	4. Chapter 4

Wednesday morning, Marcus sat down next to Agent McNally of the NSA on a park bench. The appointment couldn't have been for McNally's office even though he had one. Marcus knew that a spy like McNally would never admit to anything so prosaic as a consistent place of business.

“Hi, Bell, I understand you'll be a Fed yourself in a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, pretty soon,” admits Marcus, “but I'll still be one of the good guys. You heard about Sherlock and Joan?” Marcus couldn't see much point in small talk with a guy like McNally.

“We're not the CIA. The FBI does talk to us occasionally, so yes we're aware that Holmes confessed to murdering a serial killer on the UK's behalf and left the country.”

“Any truth to the 'on the UK's behalf’ part of it? Was Rowan involved in or witness to anything intelligence-related that you're aware of?”

“If I did know of any such thing, why would I tell you?” Asked McNally. “It would be highly classified information.”

“Because Sherlock saved your ass over the Fidel Files, and now you have the chance to save his ass,” replied Marcus patiently.

“Seems to me like his ass is already saved. He's not charged with or convicted of anything, is he?” Countered McNally. 

“No, he's not charged or convicted, only exiled for something he didn't do. One of the NYPD's best consultants can't enter the country, and the other one followed him once she got the chance. So give me a break here, ok?”

“All right, Bell here's what I can tell you: No, we aren't aware of any intelligence activity or involvement on Michael Rowan's part. Also, whether Holmes did it or not, he couldn't use a cover story about MI6 without their approval. I don't know who authorized it, but his old boss at MI6 was a guy named Sir Valentine Walter. You might give him a try.”

“Thanks, McNally,” replied Marcus. “I owe you one.”

“Everybody owes the NSA one,” McNally shot back before leaving the bench.

Marcus smiled to himself. At least he had a name to start with.


	5. Chapter 5

Great, thought Marcus, the name of a spy. All he had to do was track down a British spy and convince him to give up a fellow operative, without any authority to enforce it. Shouldn't be a problem.

Actually, the tracking down part wasn't hard at all. The “Sir” in front of Walker's name made Marcus wonder whether the man 's position was non-covert enough for him to be honored publicly, and a quick internet search proved this to be true. Unfortunately, it also proved Walker to be the head of MI6, who would have about as little time for a currently unemployed American law enforcement officer as it was possible to have. Marcus called the number listed anyway, in the the ridiculous hope that whatever staff member answered would either know something or be willing and able to find it out.

The secretary identified himself as Mr. Cook and spoke with an extremely supercilious attitude. Ordinarily Marcus would have just described him as “full of himself,” but Cook was so British in his bullshit that only “supercilious” would work. Marcus politely explained how new details had come up on the Michael Rowan investigation, adding, “I know Mr. Holmes was working in the service of the Queen, so there's not much you can tell me, but can you at least confirm a few things?”

As he'd hoped, Cook took the bait. “Young man, you should also be aware that there is no such thing as a license to kill. If this man committed a murder, then he was not working in the service of the Queen.” Marcus smiled to himself. Apparently Walker hadn't bothered to tell his blowhard of an underling the cover story. Marcus figured he had all he was going to get and prepared to bow at of the conversation, when Cook gave him just a little bit more. “Anyone who believes in such a thing is clearly a blackmailer. They'd have to keep the proof somewhere.”

Marcus knew Sherlock wasn't a blackmailer, Sherlock also thought three steps ahead. If Sherlock hadn't done this thing, Cook was probably right that he would have kept the evidence somewhere. Marcus hurried over to the brownstone to see what he could see.

Marcus stood on the stoop of the brownstone and dug out the key Sherlock had given him years ago. Except for Joan, who shared it as a home, everyone else who needed access to the building was expected to pick the lock. That had been a training exercise for the pair's two proteges, but it was even expected of their housekeeper, Ms. Hudson. Giving Marcus the key had been Sherlock's agreement never to ask Marcus to do anything that even looked illegal. Sherlock and Joan might color outside the lines, but they recognized that Marcus never would.

Marcus opened the door and walked into the large library where Sherlock liked to think. Marcus suspected Sherlock was a traditionalist when it came to hiding places, so he started with a few large books on high shelves. A couple were hollowed out, but none held anything, so Marcus moved on to the bricks surrounding the fireplace. One looked loose. It slid out under Marcus's hand. Marcus stuck his hand in the space revealed and came back with two jewelry cases. The antique one contained a gorgeous sapphire ring. The modern one contained a thumb drive.

Marcus plugged the drive into his laptop as soon as he got home, but it was clearly than he could handle. Marcus called one more contact, and was happy to hear that Mason would be able to help after his morning class tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

Friday morning at eight, Marcus let Mason, his laptop, plus several pounds of random computer gear into his apartment. Mason sat down at the counter, opened the laptop, and looked up at Marcus to discuss terms. “Sherlock and Joan usually pay me in collectables, especially action figures. Do you have anything good?”

Marcus thinks carefully about how much this is worth to him, and makes his offer. “I have an original Indiana Jones still in the box.” He'd never displayed it anyway, so there wasn't any harm in letting this kid have it if it would exonerate Sherlock. If the thumb drive turned out to be a list of closely-guarded beekeeping secrets, Marcus would be upset, but he'd get over it.

“Done,” said Mason. “You said Sherlock or Joan encrypted this thing themselves?”

“I'm pretty sure,” replied Marcus, “I don't think they would have wanted anybody else involved. It was more likely Sherlock than Joan.”

“Shouldn't be too hard, then,”said Mason. “Even in physical security, Sherlock tends to go through the motions and assume that people don't want to dig into him, and that's with things he's good at breaking into, like his locks. He's even worse at cyber security.”

Marcus decided to ignore this casual analysis of his friend. “How long do you think it will take?”

“Probably about twenty minutes,” said Mason, plugging the thumb drive into his laptop. I'll let you know when I'm done.

“Awesome,” said Marcus, “I'm gonna run over to the storage and get the action figure.” 

When Marcus returned, Mason turned to him apologetically. “The file was set to run as soon as the encryption was broken. It's not a worm so it won't damage anything, but it did mean I heard both files. I'm sorry.”

Marcus looked at the kid, decided not point out that he could have muted the audio if he didn't want to hear it, and listened to what had embarrassed Mason so. It turned out to be a massive kick in Marcus's gut.

Marcus wished he hadn't heard first Hannah, then the Captain, confessing their parts in the murder of Michael Rowan to Sherlock. He turned to Mason and asked if there were any chance the audio was fake, but he didn't need the technical details to know there wasn't. Marcus cut Mason's explanation off to ask “So you know who they are, if you're sorry about it?”

“Yeah,” said Mason, “or at least I know he's your boss. I heard his voice once when I was over at the precinct working on facial recognition for Sherlock. I'm not gonna say anything.”

“You might have to,” countered Marcus, “if this comes into court.”

“But why would it come into court? How would anybody even know? Wait, you're not gonna say anything, are you?”

“I don't know yet. The Captain's not my boss anymore and that wouldn't have stopped me when he was,” said Marcus.

“But Sherlock didn't want this known,” protested Mason, his voice breaking just a little. “ He left the country rather than expose this. You said you're doing this for him, so take his side.”

Marcus looked at the sixteen-year-old genius who couldn't understand anything. “If I tell, it will be because this is bigger than Sherlock, or the Captain either. I haven't decided yet, but you're going to have to decide, too.” He stuffed the thumb drive in his pocket, handed over Indiana Jones, and walked Mason to the door.


	7. Chapter 7

Once Mason was safely out the door, Marcus sat down and tried to breathe. He had assumed solving the case was going to be the hard part. He was wrong. Finally knowing that Hannah was the killer, and worse, that the captain had covered it up, squeezed Marcus's insides into a tight little knot. The one good thing was that today was both Friday and a holiday. The NYPD never slept, but its administrative offices would be closed until Monday. Marcus couldn't take any action until then, so he didn't have to make any decisions until then either.

Marcus got dressed for a run and locked the door. He tried not to notice the key to the brownstone as he did so.

The rest of the weekend passed exactly like that. Marcus went through the motions of his normal life, trying not to notice anything that would speak to what he had heard.

When he picked up his dress uniform from the dry cleaners, Marcus tried not others an echo of the Captain saying, “If you did go through with is, I'd be so proud of you.”

When he filled out one more form for the Marshals, Marcus tried not yo think about entering them with an Internal Affairs investigation hanging over his head. Then he tried not to think about working for them without something like this having been investigated.

When he drove Chantal to her last follow up appointment after her attack a year ago, Marcus tried not to think about what he almost did to the man who hurt her. He tried not to think about how Sherlock had prevented it. He tried not to think about why Sherlock said he had done so. He tried not think that Sherlock might be doing the same for the Captain.

Marcus spent the weekend trying not to think about theses things, until he took his mom to church on Sunday morning and she invited him and Chantal to dinner that afternoon.


	8. Chapter 8

Sunday afternoon, Chantal and Marcus headed over to his mom's house for dinner. Chantal, Andre, and Mrs. Bell chatted and ate. Marcus stayed quiet and pushed food around his plate. After dinner, Mrs. Bell put her usual rule into effect: when a woman cooks the men do the dishes.

Marcus had no objections to either the dishes or the sexual division of labor, but he did object to being alone in the kitchen with Andre. Andre had been watching closely enough that Marcus was sure he suspected something. Marcus took up a position by the sink and let Andre mostly clear, since that would keep him moving around and make conversation difficult.

As soon as they got started, Andre confirms this: “ I'm guessing you're not gonna tell me what's on your mind, Marcus, but are you at least talking to someone?”

Marcus didn't like being interrogated by his older brother and decided to go with denial: “Nothing's on my mind, Andre.”

“Great,” said Andre, motioning to Marcus's full plate, “Then I'll go tell Mom that you hate her meatloaf so much you leave this much behind even when nothing's on your mind.”

Marcus was pleased that Andre chose a twelve-year-old's tactics for this conversation. That way, Marcus didn't have to stick with adult behavior, either. He reached for the sprayer. “Go out there at your own risk,” he threatened.

Andre smirked. “I'm not risking anything unless you're the kind of cop who'd shoot an unarmed man.”

“What the hell do you know about the kind of cop I am?” Asked Marcus, half a second before realizing he'd walked right into Andre's trap.

Andrew's voice got quiet. “I know you're the kind of cop who reports on other cops when you know they're doing wrong. I know you reported on your boss once and I got shot for it. I know that didn't stop you from reporting on a different boss years later.”

“You getting shot was not my fault,” said Marcus.

Andre accepted this. “No It wasn't, but you've been thinking about it tonight all the same. You looked at my side, where the exit wound was, three times tonight. There's something else to report, something bad, and you're counting the cost. You haven't told your prosecutor girlfriend, because that would either be the same as telling or get her in trouble.”

“Her name is Chantal. But no, I haven't told her.”

“Look, Marcus, your code is to always tell at least as much as mine I never to tell. So why haven't you told? Is somebody you respect involved?”

“Andre, there's no way I'm gonna answer that to you. But even if it were true, the ones involved might not be the only ones affected.”

“Fair enough, but figure it out anyway, at least enough to give you some peace,” Andre replied. “I hear the Marshal training includes some physical work, and it would be okay if you ate something sometime before you got there.”

They finished the dishes in silence. When he got home that evening, Marcus sent a text to Sherlock and Joan. It was the middle of the night in London, but Sherlock barely slept anyway and Joan would have silenced her phone before bed.

The text said “I thought you know I meant it. If I was mean to Hannah I'm sorry. Also I'm sorry about effect on Captain. Even if I had the will I wouldn't tell. I keep internal all my affairs.” It was creepy, of course, but only if you read all the words. Marcus trusted that between them, Joan and Sherlock would know not to.

Monday morning, Marcus walked in the door of NYPD internal affairs and asked to speak with a detective. When he was interviewed, Marcus placed the thumb drive on the table. He looked his interviewer in the eye and said “This came into my possession recently. I am happy to tell you when and where. The female voice in the first interview will match your voiceprint registration for Sgt Hannah Gregson of the 15th Precinct. The male voice answering questions in the second interview is Capt. Thomas Gregson of the 11th. The interviewer in both segments is Sherlock Holmes, formerly a consultant for the department.” There was nothing more for him to say.


End file.
